


Fallen for you

by Pansexualweirdo



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: Fluff, Guys You're In Church Behave Yourselves, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Inspired by Fanart, Intimacy, M/M, POV First Person, POV Timothy Lovejoy, Stupid Clumsy Flanders, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27729007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pansexualweirdo/pseuds/Pansexualweirdo
Summary: Ned greets Lovejoy after a sermon and intimacy ensues.
Relationships: Ned Flanders & Timothy Lovejoy, Ned Flanders/Timothy Lovejoy
Kudos: 20





	Fallen for you

**Author's Note:**

> This short little draft was written on the bus with inspiration from the lovely Kowals-kii's fanart on Tumblr. I highly recommend checking out some his stuff if you want to, his art is amazing! Here are the pieces that made this fic come to life: https://64.media.tumblr.com/625be02b49978d7ec90c093e4ca14e94/tumblr_pk888trAdU1xklsovo9_500.png and https://64.media.tumblr.com/585362a66ccb036098d127c2c681ace2/tumblr_pk888trAdU1xklsovo8_500.png 
> 
> Happy reading! :)
> 
> AN: If for any reason the original artist of the fanart reads this and wants the links and/or the work itself removed, please let me know!

**Lovejoy’s POV**

After the sermon, I step down from the pulpit and am greeted by my audience. I thank them for coming and additionally for any praise some give me for my speech and performance. I have to admit, I’m a lot more enthusiastic leading mass and homilies nowadays, and I can honestly say I’m proud of my conduct in church. This change of spirit may or may not have to do with the silly, mustache-wearing man waiting patiently at the end of the line of church-goers to see me. I catch his eye and he smiles goofily, adjusting his round glasses despite them already being perfectly straight. It’s one of those smiles that turns the corners of his annoyingly symmetrical mustache upwards and crinkles his eyes - a smile that forces me to ask the person whose hand I’m shaking to repeat what they said.

It shouldn’t feel like hours before I’ve bid everyone but Ned goodbye, yet it does. I’m ecstatic to see him, but I school my expression and wait for _him_ to come up to _me_.

Then I realize my grave mistake. Not watching his feet, Ned forgets there’s a step separating us and he trips over it, falling face-down onto the concrete floor with a loud thud.

I wince and yell “Flanders!” - that sound was plenty loud, almost echoing down the pews -, helping him up onto his knees. The fool has managed to split his lower lip, a drop of blood from the wound smeared on his chin and he looks disoriented, but his glasses are whole and I don’t think he has broken anything. Thank God.

“Are you okay?” I ask, far too worried about my friend to care if someone happens to walk in when I gently cup his jaw in my hand, carefully as not to hurt him. Flanders’ eyes fixate on me and fall half-lidded at once, pupils almost swallowing the irises whole in a movement so fast that if you blink, you would miss it. But even with the clumsy, dorky mess of a human that he is, I can’t tear my eyes away from him. I feel my heart stutter in my chest and I mumble: “That was a pretty hard fall; you busted your lip. Watch your step next time.”

Mute and with an expression awfully close to helplessly enamored, Ned responds by enclosing my forearm with his own hands, holding onto me as though I’m a lifeline in the middle of a storm.

“Ned?” I call, my voice strangely small. Since when do I sound so… discomposed?

The sleeve of my reverend’s robe pools down my arm and, with it trapped in Flanders’ grip (though I can’t say I’m offended - much less _troubled_ ), it slides further down, basically capturing both of Ned’s hands inside of it, too. And as if this position isn’t already compromising enough, with me staring wide-eyed down at a doting, rosy-cheeked Flanders on his knees - causing all sorts of sinful images to pop up that I, **as a priest,** am not supposed to be imagining in _**church**_ -, and Ned heart-eyeing me so aggressively, he goes and makes it a hundred times ~~better~~ worse by sliding one hand up my bare arm, causing goosebumps to break out along my skin.

“Ned,” I say again, in an attempt to warn him not to go any further, but my voice wavers, and I’m so far from okay with it. At least no one’s around to witness this…

That cheeky hand of Flanders’ continues trailing up my upper arm, fingertips only ghosting my skin and shooting shivers down my spine in the process - before they reach my torso where he rests his palm flat against my chest, right above my heart.

Said heart makes a flip in my chest and I bite back a sigh - but can you blame me for lowering my defenses for him?

“Get up from the floor already, you stupid man.”

My smile bleeds through my tone and I can’t help but let him take my hands again as I help him up. Once Ned finally decides to say anything, it’s to spout flattery - flattery that works me up more than that of any other regular church attendees: “I really liked your sermon today”, and it’s such a simple sentence, but it’s so appreciative.

I shrug my shoulders, acting nonchalant while I’m gushing on the inside.

“I try,” I reply, tongue in cheek, then I glance down at Ned’s lips, and it’s _only_ because of the nick he’s gotten from the fall. I should get the first aid kit. Or kiss him. But definitely the former. Definitely.


End file.
